Death Trap (11 page)

Rio squared her shoulders immediately despite the pain. ‘Yes, ma’am. We’ve been—’

‘Why don’t you tell me all about it back at base in fifteen minutes.’

The line went dead.

‘Don’t worry about Raspberry Ripple, she’s just blowing off steam.’

‘Don’t call her that,’ Rio growled.

Strong’s mouth jerked up at the side. ‘Oh I forgot, all you feminist cops like to stick together.’

‘I wish I had time to tell you what a disrespectful, nasty pig and the other ten adjectives I’ve got burning in my brain to describe you, but I don’t. A girl’s life is on the line. Drop me at The Fort and then go to the Bells’ and discreetly keep an eye on everyone.’

Strong nodded, but added, ‘What about the info on the drugs deal I’ve picked up?’

But before Rio could answer her mobile rang again. She checked the ID this time.

Calum Burns. Again.

Furious she punched the connection to the call. ‘I already told you—’

‘Is she dead?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That little girl you’re looking after.’

‘I’m not discussing this case with you.’

‘Cool. Fine. No need to tell you about the Wanted poster with Nicola Bell’s face on it.’

Wanted poster? Nikki? The image imprinted itself on Rio’s mind. The pain started throbbing like a razor blade slicing over and over through her skin.

‘What’s going on, Calum?’

‘There’s a professional hit out on your girl.’

The line went dead.

fourteen

The Hit: Day One

4:35 p.m.

‘What the hell went on?’

Assistant Commissioner Tripple’s words bounced around inside DSI Newman’s office as Rio stood rigidly in front of her desk, the bruise to her head throbbing. But Rio could tell from the set of the AC’s face she wasn’t finished speaking.

‘You have the only credible witness in your custody, with a protection officer guarding the door, and what happens? Someone manages to get to her and almost kill her on our watch.’

Rio took every word on the chin. No arguing, no defending herself. The AC was right: that was her watch and a young girl had almost died.

‘There’s a contract hit out on the girl.’

For the first time ever Rio heard her superior swear. ‘How do you know?’

‘A source.’ Rio quickly added, ‘A confidential source.’ She didn’t need anyone asking any questions about Calum, although Newman had given her the go-ahead to see him. She wasn’t planning to have Calum attached too long to this case.

‘Reliable?’

Calum reliable? If you were talking about their relationship, no way, Rio thought bitterly, but Calum was a man with his ear to the ground, so if he said there was a contract out on Nikki Bell it was probably the truth. Rio nodded.

AC Tripple waved her hand at the empty chair Rio stood in front of.

Once she was seated, the other woman said, ‘You know that I’ve always thought that you were the one who was going to make a difference. The one who was going to finally mark out a place for women and ethnic minorities in the force.’

Not many people realised that Rio’s relationship with the Assistant Commissioner went much further back than when the other woman had taken up her post as one of the leading officers in the Metropolitan Police Service. Pauline Tripple had taken Rio under her wing during Rio’s three-year stint in the armed response unit, sacrificing personal time to give her advice and show her the ropes. Tripple hadn’t had an easy time during her steady climb up the career ladder and she was determined that other women entering the force would not have to deal with the level of hostility she’d had to go through. She’d recognised Rio’s ambition, determination and strong will. Rio was thankful for her help, but wasn’t sure about being the double poster girl for gender and race equality in the Force.

‘I gave you this case because I know you can solve it,’ the other woman continued. ‘You’re special. You’ve got the smarts that we need at the top. The Met is going through a very rocky patch, as you well know. Public confidence in us is not where we would want it to be at the moment. We need to become a twenty-first century police service and the twenty-first century looks like you, Rio Wray. I know you don’t like that – see it as some type of burden, just want to get on and do a stellar job – but the reality is if we don’t have people like you at the top there’s only one way we’re going to go: backwards.’

‘Got a problem with someone using it to rise in the ranks.’

Jack Strong’s words came back to Rio. That’s what she hated the most: people assuming that she only got where she was going because someone powerful was opening doors for her, not because she was talented and bloody good at her job.

So Rio dared to say something that she knew might be seen as rank disrespect. ‘Ma’am, you know that I’ve always been grateful for the time you’ve invested in me, but I don’t need someone holding my hand.’

The AC’s mouth tilted into a bittersweet, lopsided smile. ‘Do you know how many times I wished someone – just one person – had stretched out their palm to me, when I was coming up? It was rough back then. I had to work twice as hard as any man to show I had balls big enough to do the job as well. But do you know what I started to realise? I don’t have balls; don’t want them either. I had something different that pushed me on and up. I take pride in some calling me Raspberry Ripple, and you know why? Because I made it, and that’s why I’m going to recommend you for DSI Newman’s post when he retires.’

Rio couldn’t help the way her chest punched out in pride. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

The chummy friendliness left the Assistant Commissioner. ‘But that’s not going to happen if you muck up this case. I know you don’t want any special favours so I’ll tell it to you straight – if you don’t solve this case within the next two weeks, I’m going to pull you off it. And that promotion will disappear before your eyes.’

When Rio got back to the operations room she stared at the e-fit picture that had been made up of the witness descriptions of the hitman. Nothing special about him; he looked like any other ordinary bloke. And there was no joy with a match to anyone else on their database.

5:00 p.m.

Rio approached Strong’s car, stationed on the opposite side of the road to Patsy and Frank Bell’s home. He rolled the driver’s window down, but Rio went around to the passenger side and got in.

‘Everything’s been quiet,’ he told her. ‘Did the AC give you the usual blah blah about being taken off the case if you didn’t solve it pronto?’

Rio refused to engage with him on this subject and kept her face looking straight ahead.

‘Or did she wind you up by dangling that promotion above your head?’

Now Rio turned to him, her cool brown gaze dressing him down. But he kept up his insolent chat. ‘Pauline Tripple was a real goer back in the day. Bet she never told you about—’

‘Tell me what you’ve got on the drugs deal angle,’ Rio calmly cut in. She was tired, body still stinging, and she didn’t have the reserves to sing along with the nasty tune he was humming.

With a small, cynical tip of his lips that would usually get her temper in motion, he pulled out his mobile. That surprised her; she thought he’d be old cop style, like her, with his notebook or a file. Strong used his thumb to scroll down his mobile screen. He silently read for half a minute and then looked back up at her.

‘I spoke to the drugs boys and a couple of trafficking analysts and asked them if they had any info that could help us. In particular, if they knew of any consignments that were being held up while the investors over here raised the money or if they knew of anyone new on the scene, anything unusual, you know . . .’ His finger tapped against the screen. ‘They did turn up a couple of cases that might fit our bill and this one is the best of the bunch.’

He passed her the phone. Rio gazed at a photo of two men sitting in what looked like a bar.

‘This came from a police surveillance team in Brussels,’ Strong explained as he leaned closer to her. ‘The man on the right is Frank Decker, who used to act as the middle-man between a major Turkish drug supplier and a big syndicate in London. But the thing is we picked up the London end of the operation six months ago, which left our Turkish friends with no one reliable to sell to and they’re looking for new partners.’

Strong’s finger touched the screen. ‘The guy on the left is Terry Larkin who comes from South London and whose family have been small time, bit part players, in the underworld for years – nothing too serious but they’re always around, you know? The thing is that about ten years ago, Larkin was the running mate of a leading member of the syndicate that’s just been taken down and there’s a suggestion that maybe Larkin’s been offered the chance to take over the London end of the operation. The word is that he may have had a partner in crime at one stage with significant cash to inject, but they fell out or something . . . Anyway, it sounds like the partner left him high and dry, so he’d need to raise some serious dough and as far as anyone can see, he hasn’t got it. So he might have been a candidate for a Greenbelt style operation.’

Rio sighed. ‘Might have been?’

Strong took the mobile from her and used his fingers to enlarge the photo so that the bottom, right-hand corner was prominent. ‘Yeah. As you can see from the time and date on that photo it’s the same date as the fourth Greenbelt raid, which rules out Terry Larkin from being there. However, we know Terry’s made a number of trips to Belgium on false passports but he never goes the same way or uses the same methods. Plane, boat and train, he uses them all. We also think that the Turks have got a container full of gear sitting somewhere in a warehouse in Antwerp and they’re not moving it, which suggests they’re waiting for the London end to be sorted out. And even though Terry can’t be a Greenbelt guy on raid number four, he comes from a family that includes other candidates who might be. Like this guy, for example . . .’

Strong got another photo on screen: a mug shot. Name: Gary Larkin.

‘Terry’s younger brother – Terry’s older than him by about ten years. Convictions are mainly mid-range, including a failed prosecution for firearms possession and a conviction for an armed raid on a post office. He served time in prison for the post office offence and other terms for burglary and violence. But the last of his convictions was five years before. There’s nothing to suggest this is a man who could be responsible for anything on the scale of the Greenbelt raids.’

Rio took the phone and studied the photo. It was of a man who had once been handsome but was now heading into middle age with greying hair, wrinkles and jowls. And that had been five years previously. He seemed too old already to be running around the countryside raiding homes and killing people.

‘What about his medical history? Any signs of chest complaints or breathing difficulties?’

Strong admitted, ‘He’s registered with a doctor who’s very discreet about his criminal client’s illnesses. You know the type – if he comes in with a bullet wound, the quack puts it down as a sore throat. I’ve got the feeling that anything medical that might help ID Gary Larkin won’t be on his records . . .’

Rio focused on the photo. Gary Larkin looked like what his record said that he was: a small-time crook whose best days were behind him.

‘And Rio, there’s another interesting thing about Gary—’

Her gaze flicked up at him. ‘DI Wray. That’s my title and that’s what you will use.’

‘Whatever you say, home girl.’ Rio didn’t rise to the provocation, but let him continue. ‘Gary Larkin is on our list of convicted criminals we want to bring in to interview – just to eliminate them from our inquiries. All our other potential suspects have airtight alibis. Larkin’s very low down on the list, I’ll admit, but nevertheless . . .’

‘Look at this photo.’ Rio pushed the mobile at Strong. ‘ What does it tell you?’

Strong looked at it for a while and said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘He’s got loser stamped all over his face. A drugs deal might be his last chance to make something of himself before he fades away – but he hasn’t got the money—’

Rio was looking into her suspect’s eyes, ‘Let’s pay him an unannounced visit and ask him if he’ll help with our inquiry. Did you do any digging about other members of the Larkin family?’

Strong tapped away at his mobile again and then passed it to Rio. She couldn’t fault the detective next to her; he’d done a quick and efficient job of finding out everything they had on the Larkin brood. Gary was the only one with convictions for violence and firearms, although the entire family seemed to have been picked up for something at one time or another. There was even a cousin who had skipped town and decamped to Cyprus years back rather than face questioning about an armed robbery.

Terry seemed to be the brains behind the outfit. His convictions were for the cleverer type of crimes – fraud, gambling and numbers rackets. It made sense . . . but only just. What if big brother Terry organises the importation of narcotics while Gary raises the cash?

And Terry’s seventeen-year-old son, Samson – stupid name – already looked like a handful. He had a string of convictions for sadistic, unnecessary and unprofitable violence.